13. Remington

THIRTEEN

REMINGTON

It starts out faint enough. A small blip through an otherwise silent house. Easily dismissed as I pipe Scarlet's frosting onto her stout little cupcakes.

But then it comes again, louder.

Putting the bag down, I quietly leave the kitchen and go into the open living space trying to catch the sound.

After a moment, I hear it again. Longer, pained, a whimper.

"Scarlet?" I call, making my way to the stairs.

At the landing, I find Winnie pacing about, her ears turned back. When she sees me, she gives a short, desperate howl, as she pops up on her back legs before landing on all four.

Taking the first step, I coax, "Winnie girl, what's up?" not wanting to startle her.

She takes me by surprise as she bounds down half the stairs, sweeps her head between me and the top, and sprints back up.

Going up several more as she sinks low to the floor, another whimper coming from her, I hear the sound again. This time it's undeniable. My girl is crying.

"Scar? Baby, are you okay?" I shout, gripping the railing and using it to propel me up.

It's the blood curdling scream that rips through the house that has me abandoning all sense of caution as I fly up the rest of the stairs. Ahead of me, Winnie is racing down the hall and barreling into my room. The screech of her nails across the hardwood floors is piercing. She's no doubt scarred the planks, but that's the last thing on my mind as I round the corner into the master suite.

With adrenaline pumping through my blood, I don't think when I see Scarlet standing. I just react.

I reach out to touch her shoulder, pull her into me, my gaze sweeping the room for what, I don't know. It's not as if the house is easily located and someone could have gotten in here without me knowing, no less in broad daylight. The need to soothe and protect, fix whatever is causing her such distress while reassuring myself she's safe, clouds my rational thought, and everything I learned in college while studying the psychology of trauma flies free from my mind.

I have nearly a foot on her and somewhere between 70 and 100 pounds. That doesn't matter though when given proper leverage and taken by surprise.

The moment my hand closes on her shoulder and I say her name, I'm on my back. The wind is knocked out of me, and her weight settles on me as she pins me to the ground.

Her grip is unnaturally strong. Her thighs a vice around me as she shoves her hands deep into my shoulders to keep me beneath her. Her chest heaving and her breath short. It's her eyes though that I don't think I'll ever be able to unsee.

Scarlet is always so happy and free. Smiling and laughing. Warm, kind, and open. Seemingly untouched by darkness. She radiates a light that banishes the shadows in others.

Looking down at me now though, it's as if not only that light but the very life within her has been leached out. Diminished. Stolen. Tainted. All that's left is sheer, unadulterated terror as her body begins to tremble, skin coated with sweat, her sun kissed coloring now ashen.

When she registers seeing me, she begins to sob once more. The sound a gut wrenching noise that, like the sight of her eyes, will haunt me.

With shaky hands she begins to feel out my face. Pat down my chest. Cup my hips and squeeze.

Wiping her nose on her shoulder, she hiccups, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," the words a mantra she repeats over and over again, her hands pressing down and up on my chest in the same rhythm.

"It's okay, baby girl," I hush. "You're okay. I'm okay. Everything'll be okay. I promise."

Touching my face again, she murmurs my name, before crumpling forward, her face buried in my neck as she breathes in deeply, holding each one before letting it slowly back out.

"I'm gonna wrap my arms around you now. Is that okay?" I gently announce, not wanting to do anything to startle her again or have that fear turn towards me.

"Please… yes…" she mumbles, her words muffled from where her lips are pressed against me.

Slowly, I close my arms around her, my knees coming up to support her butt as I do so.

"There we go, baby girl. How's that?"

"Tighter."

Nodding my head, I whisper, "You got it," pulling her in and securing her to me until she sighs.

"Thank you."

"Anythin' you need I'll give."

After a while, the tears pooling at the crook of my neck and slipping down my back stop flowing. Soon after, her hiccups and gasping breaths turn steady. And finally, the tremors racing through her limbs subsides.

Carding her fingers through my hair, her voice is devoid of all emotion as she sighs, "I guess I have to explain now, huh?"

"You don't have to do anything. If you want to tell me, I'll listen. If you don't want to tell me, I won't ask. If you just want to keep lying here, I'll hold you until you're ready to move. You do what you need and what makes you feel safe, and I'll be here to help in any way I can."

Pushing up so she's square in my lap, her hands caressing up my chest and across my shoulders, she whispers, "I need to shower. I can still… still… I can still feel… feel…"

"Shh…" I soothe as the hands that are grounding her to me pick up the pace of their exploration, her breathing trying to back pedal into short, dizzying gasps. "Breathe, Scarlet. Remember, you don't have to explain yourself. Just tell me what you need and you'll have it."

"A shower. Please, Remi. I just, I just want to be clean."

Locking my arms around her, I rock forward using the momentum to pop up on the balls of my feet, years of squatting behind the plate taking over as I rise to standing.The action doesn't go without notice though, my hip giving an echoing pop I brush aside when she tries to protest. The clicking, the blooming ache, the injury, all of it is a concern for a much later time. And unless her talking about its maintenance and admonishing me for not following the guidelines keeps her grounded in the present, I could care less about it so long as the damn thing doesn't decide to give out on me now.

With Winnie once more leading the way, I carry Scarlet into the ensuite. Despite it all, the feeling of her in my arms and her legs locked around my waist is absolute heaven. It feels as perfect and life changing as holding my glove and making my first catch all those years ago. It feels right, and I never want to let her go or know what it's like not to have her like this ever again.

Sitting her down on the once empty, window facing vanity that's now cluttered with makeup, hair things, and Lord only knows what else, I warn, "I'm going to kiss your forehead," moving slowly even as she looks up at me waiting.

Taking a chance, I brush her hair back from where it's sticking to her face. Then cupping her cheeks in my hands, I press my lips just above the middle of her brow, trying to smooth out the deep furrow that remains. Her skin is clammy to the touch, but as my fingers trail off to her neck, I find her pulse steady and calm.

Going over to the shower, I check the towel rack and turn it's heat on. I begin turning the individual knobs, the space rapidly beginning to fill with steam as water pours out from both the wall mounted shower heads and the rainfall in the ceiling.

Voice more clear but still despondent, she asks, "Stay with me?" She slips her hand in mine and looks up.

While my back was turned she undressed, but the only thing I see when I look down at her are the broken pieces she's been hiding so well. It doesn't take but the few pieces dropped at my feet to put together the source of her shadows. A realization that has guilt settling in on my shoulders over possibly having triggered her episode.

The quiet, emotionless state she's in unnerves me, so I'm startled when she brings my hand up to her lips and kisses my knuckles.

"You didn't do anything, Remington. In fact, you're the only person outside of my family I feel safe with. This just happens sometimes. Much less frequently now, but I don't think these sort of things ever fully go away."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You couldn't if you tried. At least not in that way." Letting go of my hand, she steps into the mosaic tiled shower and offers, "But if it makes you uncomfortable, I understand. Will you at least stay in the bathroom, though? I don't want to be alone. Not yet."

Reaching behind my shoulder, I pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Then pushing my athletic shorts down, but keeping the boxers I put on after my earlier shower, I repeat, "I'm here to give you and be whatever you need, baby girl," stepping in with her.

No sooner do I feel the water on my skin does she step back into my arms, a soft sigh leaving her as her shoulders drop and eyes close. Holding her under the hot spray, she feels impossibly fragile. As if a single sudden movement will see her shatter. And for as emotionally delicate as the moment is, I'm calm, content even. Because no matter how slow she needs to go, how many steps we may take back in our quest forward, she's letting me in. Vulnerable as she is, she trusts me, feels safe with me, and as long as that remains, we can build something sure and sturdy. Something that will last.

After some time, I lead her out from under the rainfall and say, "Let me wash your hair for you," already picking through the numerous bottles that have collected along my shower's shelves since she moved in.

"The black one," she laughs. The sound isn't as buoyant as it would be on any other day, but it's promising. She's coming back to me, slowly but surely.

"Which black one?" I ask, finding three different bottles.

"The one that says ‘lather.'"

"Got it." Squeezing it into my hand, I instruct, "Turn around."

Transferring it to her head, I scoop up the ends of her hair and pile it all on top, beginning to massage her scalp, moving the soap about until her head is covered in a crown of white suds.

"I think I may have used too much," I worry, wringing some out and slapping it free onto the floor to swirl down the drain before threading my fingers back though where they snag and pull.

"I think you may be knotting my hair."

"That's a pretty safe bet. If you'd like though, I'll comb it out for you."

"Mmm…" she hums. "Yes, please."

Guiding her back under the shower head, I rinse her hair. Then holding up both bottles of conditioner, hand her the one she picks and say, "It's probably best you tell me how much to use." I comb my fingers through the nest of knots I made once she gives me the proper amount before handing her the clip she keeps amongst the collected bottles.

"Any requests?"

Looking over her numerous bottles of body wash, she shrugs, "Pick your favorite."

Without even looking I say, "The one that smells like roses and vanilla."

"Stolen Embrace—that's my favorite."

Drizzling the shimmering soap into my hands, I murmur, "Mine too; it smells like home." Starting at her shoulders, I knead each muscle and memorize the sounds she makes as I work my way down her back.

At her hips, I circle my hands around to her front, caressing her stomach and up to her ribs. As my fingers trace under her breasts, her breath stutters, halting my movement.

"That feels good," she whispers, my dick a fucking bastard who can't read the room, jumping over how airy she sounds.

Continuing the path to the outer curve of her small swells before going under her arms, I kiss the side of her temple and murmur more to myself than her, "Later, I promise."

Then moving with a little more purpose than when I started, I sweep the soap along her chest and circle her neck before mapping my way down each of her arms. Using what remains, I cant my hips back as I curl over her and wash the outside of her thighs, my hands reaching down to ghost along the back of her knees.

The more of her I touch, the shorter each of her next breaths become. Her neck elongates as she tilts it to the side, opening up for me. Following the rivulets of water, I trail my lips down their path, stopping at the top of her shoulder. When her head falls back, her body languid against my own, I wrap my arms around her torso, covering from below her breasts to just above her hips, content to hold her for however long she needs me.

"Remi?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you… for everything."

"No baby girl, thank you."

Later, with Scarlet bathed and the stubborn knots released from her hair, I'm pulling back the sheets and duvet of my bed as she speaks to a disgruntled Winnie on the floor.

"It's not my bed, sweet girl. I can't put you in." Getting a huff in response, she gives just as much attitude back, saying, "Well aren't you a sassy little miss this afternoon."

"All set," I announce, stepping aside so she can climb in.

Rubbing her dog's head, she stands up, the sight of her hitting me like a freight train. Naked face, long hair loose and damp, her short frame swimming in the shirt I wore earlier, climbing into my bed on what she has deemed her side if the stack of books on the nightstand is any indication. I want to see her like this every day for the rest of my fucking life. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, having her, loving her each and every day. Everything else is second, so distant it hardly registers, to the visceral swell in my chest over seeing her like this. As my future.

Shaking my head clear of the thousands of visions circling through it, I resume tucking her in, about to step back when she grabs my hand.

"Don't go."

I don't think the Devil or God himself could pull me away.

It's only when she says, "You shouldn't say things like that, Remington. It'll go to my head and make me want more of you," that I realize I've spoken out loud.

Putting my knee on the bed, I lean over her and after capturing her gaze and making sure it stays on me, say, "Want more; want it all. Ask it. Demand it. I'm yours."

Just as quickly, I stand back up and earn a sharp reprimand of my name for squatting to pick Winnie up. One I ignore.

Once she's in the bed though, a safety blanket within reach of Scarlet, I climb in and move towards the center of the bed. Propping up several pillows, I open my arms and direct, "Come here." I feel full and light as she scoots in and pillows her head on my chest, an arm across my abdomen and a leg hooked over my own.

As her fingers climb up the ladder of my ribs and slide back down, the house grows quiet. The only sound eventually coming from a sprawled out Winnie as she snores like an old man. When Scarlet's hand stops its cartography of my body, I think she's fallen asleep. Her body is relaxed, her breath even and steady, hard earned tranquility floating free from her.

I'm just about to disentangle myself from her to go wear the simmering tension within me into the ground in the gym when she speaks, stopping every twitch in my body, my breath, my very heart.

"I lied when I said Reeves took me on my first date."